


An Awkard Remark

by Stefanyeah



Category: Muse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stefanyeah/pseuds/Stefanyeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Fill:  
> http://mkmeme.livejournal.com/3898.html?thread=672058
> 
> The name is taken from the song „When the End of the World Came“ by the Jane Austen Argument. Check it out. It‘s a great tune. 
> 
> I had planned to concentrate on Celestial Charts until it‘s finished, before going back to other WiPs, or even taking aboard new stories. Ah well…
> 
> This is gonna be a short one, though. I don‘t want it to go for longer than four chapters. And I don‘t even know if there will even be a fourth. :P You‘ll see.
> 
> Anyways, note that this is about the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and look at who‘s writing this. Shit will go violent. :D

_And the dust was beginning_  
To bundle together  
To start the whole story again… 

“This song again?”

I sneer and look away from the window. I was hoping she would wait a few more minutes before announcing her presence to me. Not that I hadn't already noticed her entering the room by the click of the door and her footsteps, followed by the shoving around of a chair and rustling of clothes and papers.

I just found the ravens occupying that flash of green they so optimistically call _garden_ so much more interesting. I had heard from the other inmates – _patients_ – that the ravens had only recently found their way to this garden. I wasn't surprised. Ravens always had been my companions and there had been no day in my life that I had not spotted at least one of them. They are following me, I have no doubt about that.

I sigh and turn around to face her. “You should believe me, Dr Rieth. Have you made peace with your friends and lovers long forgotten?”

I watch her squirm and shuffle the papers in her folder, staring down at her notes. I never even bother to try and read them. It's pointless, I'd only read her verdict of my unsolvable state of insanity each session.

“You say the world is going to end,” she says. “When will it end?”

I sigh and look back to the ravens in the garden. Does she really think I'll deny what I know if she keeps asking me the same questions day after day after day after day? She should have learned long ago that my answers won't change. “You know when,” I answer. “I don't care to count how often I've told you already.”

“Fine,” she says, her voice a careful tone of patience and sympathy. “But how can I believe you, if you can't tell me when he's going to wake?”

I frown and swivel around on the chair. Usually, I don't care if she treats me as if I were a small child, but today is one of the rare days that I am annoyed. I should be outside, spending the last days remaining with my friends and family. I pause just before I snap at her and close my mouth. _Friends and family_ have only watched me ending up in this shithole of mental asylum and done nothing.

I pull my feet up, the edge of the chair pressing against my bare feet, and cross my arms around my legs, resting my head between my knees. I hear Dr Rieth shift, paper rustling and then her voice comes again, not as fluent, but hesitant, as if she was reading from an unknown source.

“And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.

“And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.”

I lift my head to find her looking down at a copy of the Bible. She doesn't appear to have noticed me taking interest in her as she continues reading.

“And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

“And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

“And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.

“And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.”

Revelation Chapter Six, I know this one by heart. At least she could have made an effort to find an older copy. Using a modern day version of the Kind James Bible is nothing but cheating.

“And when hee had opened the fourth seale, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see,” I continue. “And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, & his name that sate on him was Death, and hell followed with him: and power was giuen vnto them, ouer the fourth part of the earth to kill with sword, & with hunger, and with death, and with the beastes of the earth.”

“Tell me about the first horseman,” she asks.

I shrug. “The White Horse,” I say. “He's the one most people came to know as Pestilence. Crowned and armed with a bow.”

“You say most people know him as Pestilence?”

I nod and lean forward to point at Revelation 6:2. “He's referred to as a conqueror. Nothing said about pest or other diseases. He could be the Antichrist leading his armies, the Holy Spirit or Christ himself, depending on the interpretation you chose.”

“What do you think he is?”

“He's the first seal of seven to be broken,” I answer. “He's neither evil nor righteous. He's heralding the end time and nigh Apocalypse, nothing else.”

“You've met him?”

I nod. She knows this already. I have told her I've met all three of the horsemen. There's only one remaining that I haven't met yet.

“Why do you think he revealed himself to you?”

“So I can warn humankind,” I answer. “He said: Beware, child, for my fellow horsemen are rising. You will meet the other horsemen, the red horse and the black horse. And when you meet the pale horse, the fourth seal is broken. Then death will wreak havoc on Earth.”

I let my feet slide to the ground again and wiggle my toes against the chill tiles. Looking out of the window, I remember the day I met the White Rider many years ago. I had been sitting in our garden, cursing the homework when I heard hooves clapping towards me. I had looked up to see a tall man, a bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of long, white arrows attached to the saddle of his white horse. I never wondered how he came into our back garden. You don't really wonder about anything when met with the White Rider. You just accept his presence and what he tells you. “He has curly hair,” I offer as a piece of information to further discredit myself.

“You were 13 when you've met the first horseman?”

I sigh and look back at Dr Rieth. “Yes,” I grunt. “Why do you always ask questions to which you know the answers already? I won't suddenly tell you made-up stories to appease your denial to see reality.”

She sighs and looks down at her files again. I wait for her to challenge my version of reality, but instead, she continues on her course to question me about the horsemen. “So, you met War about three years later.”

I nod. “The Red Rider. He's not a pleasant man. Short hair, mono-brow and a sword that clearly is overcompensating for something,” I sneer. Indeed the two times he's crossed my way were anything but pleasant. Apart from mocking me, he had left a trail of blood leading to my doorstep. The last time he had appeared to taunt me about the nigh rising of the fourth horsemen, he had led the police right to me. Which ended in me being locked away in this asylum. About the first time we met, I don't want to think in the presence of Dr Rieth.

“He's the one who tricked you into psychiatric care,” she tries.

I bark a laughter. “War doesn't trick anyone. He's too simple a mind to be able to do that. He just kills whoever happens to be in front of his sword.”

“Why didn't he kill you?”

She doesn't believe me. Like any other person on this planet, she doesn't believe me. She thinks it was me who murdered all those people. As if I was stupid enough to kill someone random and let them lie around in my garbage and front garden. As if I would kill my own parents and remain sitting in the blood pools coming from their bodies.

“Apparently, the White Rider has other plans for me,” I answer.

“But if he wanted humankind to know about the impeding Apocalypse, why not reveal himself right away?” she reasons. “Why only reveal himself to a child who ends up being turned into psychiatric care by his horsemen?”

I shrug. “Who knows? Either it amuses him or he wants to test your faith.”

She looks at me for a while and I stare back until she eventually looks down into her files again.

“What can you tell me about Famine?”

“Famine,” I repeat. “He rides a black horse.”

“You've seen him more than once as well,” Dr Rieth points out.

“Yes,” I answer. “He's Famine. He's greedy and hungry and apparently his hunger for me can't be stilled.”

I can see her frown for the briefest of moments before her carefully empathic mask is back. I bet she thinks he's a manifestation of my repressed homosexuality or something similarly ridiculous. “How often did you see him?”

I smirk and lean forward, my arms coming to rest on the table. “I see him each Sunday, when there are no sessions. He comes to me.”

She gasps and reclines from me, pulling her notebook with her to hastily scribble something inside. This bit of information is new to her and I watch how she takes notes. Obviously, next Sunday, I won't be left to my own. But that's fine with me. If I can make someone else see Famine, they will have to finally believe me.

“What does he want from you?” she asks once she's finally done with her notes.

I shrug. “As I said, he's hungry. He wants to devour me.”

“That'd be cannibalism,” she grounds out.

I laugh, the sound somewhat shrill even to my ears. Or maybe I'm just not used to hearing my laugh any more. “There are more ways to devour someone than simply eating. And since I'm locked away here, I might just use any chance for a bit of fun and distraction that presents itself.” I rise and walk over to the door, stopping next to it to signal I won't reveal any more in this session.

“Do you think you're some kind of prophet?” she snarls.

I smile at her, basking in the victory of breaking her carefully constructed mask apart. “Wouldn't it be so sweet if I was? And you knew all along what was about to happen, but you just didn't believe the one person who kept telling you? What would you think if Apocalypse was to happen tomorrow?”

“You won't spend next Sunday on your own,” she announces and rises as well. She walks over to the door and knocks.

“I figured as much,” I answer while the door opens and two nurses come in to take me to my cell – _room_. At least, they allow me to walk without restraints by now.

 

The following days trickle along, spent with watching the ravens in the garden and sessions with Dr Rieth. As expected, she tries to chalk the corpses in my backyard up to me being some kind of closet homosexual with imaginary friends. I don't care enough to contradict, just spending our sessions in silence and staring at the ravens until she gives up for the day.

It's Saturday evening now and I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling. I finished yesterday's newspaper, the discarded pieces of ink and paper lying beneath my bed. Dr Rieth keeps telling me it's a luxury I have earned myself, being allowed to read the newspaper of past days.

I suspect she just wants to see how my delusions and insanity react to current news. The inflation and economy crisis, Famine's doing, about War's deeds we don't even need to talk. He's a busy man these days. Leading a righteous people against their oppressors one day, whispering seductions into the ears of a young despot another day.

I sigh and turn my head to look out of the window. Not for the first time, I wonder how to break out of this asylum, but even if I'd get past the security and off these premises, my face will be on every news show for days, weeks even. I sigh again and turn onto my side to face the wall. Why did I even bother? I should have known that humans preferred blissful ignorance to the knowledge of imminent death. I could have spent my days in freedom and just do the fuck I wanted to. But instead, I had told people about the first horseman.

When you're thirteen, people will still smile at you and tell you, you've got an over-active imagination. And after a while you start believing them and everyone forgets this strange incident.

But then came the second horseman on his red steed, brandishing a broad sword. And while he's telling you what an idiot you were for believing grown ups, he beheads your parents. People then might get suspicious, but they tell you that you just imagined the horseman, they remember the stories from your childhood and tell you it's your mind dealing with the trauma of witnessing your parents being murdered.

And still you end up believing them until the third horseman turns up, riding his black horse and smiling down at you. Maybe I really am a mental case, but then, who wouldn't give in to someone who not only believes you, but also so clearly wants you?

And once I gave in to him, it only fuelled his hunger even more. I sigh. He's Famine after all, he will never be satiated. He once mentioned, that he's waiting for Death to return, pining for the fourth horseman and trying to fill his hunger in the meantime. He will only drop me once Death rides with him.

I grunt and shift, turning around to face the window. I wonder what Death is like. The pale horse. It's said to be almost yellowish and rickety, gaunt and weak. I wonder why one harbinger of the Apocalypse, the most famous nonetheless, would choose an old mare as his steed.

I turn back to the window, cursing under my breath. This would be just another sleepless night.

Who is he? Who is Death?

The first horseman had revealed his own name, having once been an ordinary human. He had also told me the names of the other horsemen. He had spared the name of the pale rider, though. I had spent the few months between my first meeting with Famine and my imprisonment doing research, trying to find something connecting the three names the White Rider had revealed. I had found no link between them. They seemed to be randomly chosen men with no link whatsoever.

I had even tried to gather information from Famine, even called him by his born name, but he had just pressed his hand to my mouth and had shushed me.

Death could be anyone.

Grunting, I throw myself back onto my back and stare at the ceiling again. If all goes well, someone else will see Famine tomorrow, if not, Dr Rieth will never let me out of this asylum again. Judging from past experiences with the horsemen, I'll end up securing my lifetime in this shithole.

 

I walk over the grass, feeling the blades push between my toes. I smile and look up at the sky. I shouldn't have done so. I try to hold onto the smile, concentrating on the soft grass beneath my feet, but the grey sky has already done its damage. I look down at my feet, forcing myself to ignore the sound of steps prowling around me.

Dr Rieth is guarding my every step with her own, patiently waiting for me to admit defeat. It won't happen. I look up at the sky again, waiting for hooves to sound from behind me. All I hear, though, is the croak of a raven, that suddenly stops.

I frown and turn around to find the bird hanging in mid-air.

“You again?” I ask just when I hear a horse neigh behind me. I turn back and am faced with a long, white face looming over me. It almost seems as if the horse has grown since I was thirteen. I look further up to see the man on the horse’s back, a golden crown adorning brown locks.

“You got me in here, why can't you get me out again?” I growl. “Why did you have to ruin my life like this?” I grab the reins of the horse and pull the head further down. “Why couldn't you leave me alone and in ignorance. You ruined my life! You and your bloody horsemen!”

“Today,” the White Rider says.

I let my hand sink from the leather straps and take a step back. “What?” I ask, my mind refusing to attach sense to this one word.

“Today the forth horseman will ride.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I scream, but he's gone and the raven finishes its croak. “Why do you keep coming to me?” I shout after the White Rider, but he doesn't return. I notice Dr Rieth shouting at me, her steps rushing towards me and she's grabbing my arms. I thrash, still screaming after the horseman to return, cursing him and what he's done to me.

I feel a needle jab into my arm, the familiar and hated sensation of liquid pushed into my veins follows suit. “I don't want to be a prophet,” I whisper and fall back against Dr Rieth. “I don't want to know.”

My eyes grow heavy and I'm tempted to close them, to succumb to sleep, but something is different. Something in my mind refuses to give in to the drugs. Through the haze of my mind, I can hear hooves again. I feel Dr Rieth stiffen for a moment before she lets go of me and moves back. Slowly, I turn my head and look at her. He eyes are wide and her mouth is agape.

I turn back again, the drugs in my system only allowing slow movements. And through the cotton wool that seems to lie on my whole perception I see a red horse and a black horse standing in the garden, one man sitting proudly atop each horse.

“What are you doing here?” I slur. If Death is about to rise, why are they here? What do they want from me?

“We're waiting for the Pale Rider,” Famine answers and grins down at me. His stare is as hungry as always, his pupils dilated. He leans down and inhales the air next to me, humming pleasantly.

“Why here?” I ask. “What do you want with me?”

“You misunderstood your role in this game,” War growls. “You're not a prophet, Matthew.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fourth Horseman Rises

I stare at War for a while, trying to process what he's telling me. “What do you mean?” I slur. “Why else would you haunt me the way you do?”

“Do you know why your parents had to die?” War asks instead of giving me an answer.

I slowly shake my head and stumble, only kept from falling by Famine's hand. I look up at him. The look he gives me seems so different today, not less hungry as usual, but somewhat expectant. His grey eyes bore into mine, as if searching for something in the drug-induced haze that is my brain.

I tear my eyes away from his to growl at War, “You killed them.”

I hear Dr Rieth gasp behind me and footsteps getting closer again, but I ignore her in favour of glowering at War.

“No,” he retorts. I open my mouth to snap at him, but he continues before I have the chance. “Well, yes, but this is not the _reason_ they had to die.”

I frown and shake my head. “No…” It can't be. I look back at Famine again.

He nods. “Yes.”

“It can't be,” I say and take a weak step back, colliding with Dr Rieth. “I can't be.”

War growls in frustration and dismounts. He takes a step towards me and I retreat further, pushing Dr Rieth backwards as well. “Would you stop being a spoilt brat?” War snaps. “Open your bloody eyes. Look at what happened. Look at what you are!”

I shake my head and try to back away further, but Dr Rieth's body hinders my retreat. I reach behind and pull her around me, pushing her away. I hear the ravens croak behind me and turn my head to look at them. They were always the only living beings that stayed with me. They never deserted me or just went and died like everyone else.

“It's you,” I hear Famine's voice through the fog that fills my head.

I turn my head back to him, dressed in his sharp black suit and green tie, his big grin never faltering while I stare at him. I wonder what's keeping me upright right now. Usually, the drugs would have kicked me out cold within half a minute, but still, I'm somewhat conscious. There's just a feeling of detachment, as if I don’t quite belong to this scene. I'm not sure it's the drugs, though.

“Matthew?”

I look at Dr Rieth and take a step away from her. Her eyes are wide and I notice a slight tremble in her jaw. I have to admit, I feel pleased at the scared stare directed at me. “I am not a prophet,” I finally admit.

“Finally,” War growls and thrusts his sword forward, piercing it through the spine and guts of Dr Rieth. Even as her scream pierces into my skull, I can hear her spine snap and grate against the metal of War's sword. Famine steps forward and pushes his hand into the hole that War's sword left in Dr Rieth's stomach. When he pulls his hand back, his fist is curled around Dr Rieth's intestine.

“Come,” Famine whispers, “come and see.”

“And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, & his name that sate on him was Death, and hell followed with him: and power was giuen vnto them, ouer the fourth part of the earth to kill with sword, & with hunger, and with death, and with the beastes of the earth,” I whisper over the sound of hooves from behind me.

I turn to see a mangy horse approaching, its colour not white, not grey either, ribs and sinews painfully visible beneath the fur. He stops before me, nuzzling his soft nostrils against my hand. “My loyal steed,” I whisper into his ear.

I turn back to War and Famine, meeting Dr Rieth's eyes. She stares at me, eyes almost vacant and mouth open in a silent scream. She is frozen by a spell, I realise. I look down further, noticing the blood that's running from the hole in her stomach. Following its flow, I end up looking at my own feet, standing in a puddle of crimson.

Grinning, I lift one of my feet and dip my toe into the red liquid. I watch the blood drip from my toe for a while before putting the foot forward into the small stream, following it until I stand in front of my comrades and the doctor.

Famine pulls his fist further away from her body until her guts are long enough to be wrapped around my shoulders.

“You took long to wake me,” I state in place of a greeting, accepting the morbid stole Famine bestows on me.

“What can I say, you were always the last to be woken,” Famine chuckles and reaches out to pull me closer, pressing our lips together in a greeting. “I pined for you,” he drawls, barely leaving me any air to breathe. “I want you, want to consume you. I want to still my hunger with you.”

“Your steed is as rickety and weak as always,” War says.

I break away from Famine and look over my shoulder. The stallion trots towards me, when I hold out my hand. He neighs softly, his hooves tinted red from the same blood stream my feet still stand in. I run my hand over his blaze and mane until I hit against the wooden handle of a scythe attached to a simple leather saddle.

“And you still can't afford a halter,” War continues his mocking.

I shrug and pull the scythe from its holder on the saddle. “Death doesn't need a halter,” I answer and pat my horse's black blaze before turning back to face Dr Rieth again. I click my fingers before her and the spell that held her rigid dissipates.

Her screams fill the air again and she falls to the ground, her guts being pulled out even further by the fall. She screams more until her voice breaks and all she can emit are hoarse coughs. I kneel down in front of her, my hand still holding the scythe.

With the other hand, I push up her chin. I turn her face left and right, taking in the skin hidden beneath powder and cosmetics. If she's so keen on staying young forever, I will grant her the wish of not growing old. “Death will find everyone, no matter the speed. I'll trot after you, watching you run until you're exhausted, and still, I'll always catch you in the end. No one can outrun me.”

“Matthew…”

I stand, my hand still gripping her chin. I force her upwards again and take a few steps back. She remains upright, bound by my will, while my steps tear her guts out even further. Once I've got enough space, I swing the scythe around. With a swish, it connects with Dr Rieth's nape. She splutters, blood gushing from her mouth and I stare into her eyes as the she heaves her last breath.

I can see her soul vanishing from her eyes and fleeing her body. I let her chin go and lift my hand. I can feel her soul slipping through my finger, a warm gust of silk, before it dissipates.

She sinks to the ground, pulling her bowel out even further. I sigh and cut it apart with the scythe, just when I hear commotion from behind. I turn to see the nurses running towards us. The other inmates are standing at the doors to the garden and at their windows, watching the scene unfold.

I roll my shoulders and take a step towards the nurses, my stallion right behind me.

“I am Death,” I announce, “and I claim the fourth of you.” I extend my left hand and point my index finger at the nurse closest to me. Oh, how I remember him, always quick to jab a needle with tranquilliser into my arm. He stops when he sees me pointing at him and stares at the bloodied scythe before his eyes alight on my feet. I wiggle my toes.

This causes him to look up at me again. “One,” I say before turning further, bypassing three nurses before pausing my finger. I point at a young nurse I had only seen in passing so far. I had always wondered why someone this young and hopeful had ended up working in an asylum full of hopeless cases.

“Two,” I say while staring into her eyes. She recoils and I see she wants to run away. But there's no escaping me once I've picked my pray. I won't allow her to run, so she stands rooted to the spot.

I move on, bypassing two nurses and a patient. “Three,” is a young man I've never seen before. He's too well-kept to be a patient or nurse, so I suspect he's just a guest, visiting someone dear. The patient next to him cries and pulls my prey towards him, trying to swap places. But Number Three won't budge. I smirk and bypass three more patients to finally stop at a doctor. I don't know him, but I've heard him talk to one of the nurses about his pregnant wife.

“Four.”

I snap my fingers and the four of them walk towards me. Number Three is accompanied by the patient who's still trying to swap places, begging alternately me or my prey to stop. On closer inspection, they could be brothers.

Once they're standing before me, I point to the ground. Without another word from me, they kneel. Still the patient is trying to tear his brother away. He finally gives up and throws himself into the dirt in front of me.

“Take me instead of him,” he pleads. “I don't have any hope or purpose any more, don't take his life when he's still got loved ones.”

“I don't want you,” I state. “Not yet.”

He crawls towards me, his knees even touching the blood around my feet, and his hands fist in my trousers. “Spare him, please,” he begs.

I growl and kick his hands away, looking at War. I raise an eyebrow and he's quick to understand. He steps forward and grabs the inmate by his nape to tear him away. The man thrashes and tries to break free, but War doesn‘t relent his hold on him.

I look up at the blade of my scythe and press a thumb against it. It seems suitably sharp. Without waiting for another moment or for someone else to interrupt, I swing the handle. The scythe swishes through the air, the sound soft and most pleasing.

Four heads fall to the ground to a background of screams. I step forward and stretch my free hand out, feeling the soft touch of fleeing souls. I close my eyes to enjoy this moment while around me panic breaks loose. I hear more screams and sobbing interspersed with footsteps and the sounds of breaking glass.

I feel the puddle around my feet grow until my toes are not just dipped into liquid, but covered by it. I move the toes. I'm used to water moving between my toes, blood is somewhat thicker though. It feels richer. _This_ is what I've been born for, I realise. I reach out and without seeing, I close my hand around one of those flimsy gusts. The little soul strokes against my skin, trying to escape to rise.

I open my hand and breathe out again before opening my eyes. I turn to look at Famine. He's leering at me and if I didn't know he's irises are grey, I'd swear his eyes are fully black. He wants me. I feel my lips twitching into a smirk and lift my hand to beckon him over.

He crosses the few metres between us and lifts his hand into the hair at the back of my head. I watch his face, his eyes falling closed when he moves closer until his lips are against mine. His mouth over my mouth, his tongue inside my mouth.

I indulge in him. This is just an overture for the things to come. Now that he's found Death, he's never going to let me go. He will never be able to still this hunger.

He breaks away and grins at me just when I hear a loud noise behind me. I hiss and stumble forward, my head colliding with Famine's shoulder. There's pain soaring from my back straight to my heart. I whimper and straighten again, looking up at Famine. His lips are a straight line, a sharp crease between his eyes and he's staring at something behind me.

Something is stuck in my heart, grating against the muscle with each beat. I turn my head and see one of the security guards, his hand with the gun still raised. He stares at me and shakes his head as if he can't believe I'm still alive. I growl and turn fully while Famine's hands still support me.

For a moment, I concentrate on the bullet in my heart. I can feel it melting and dissipate, the metal being pumped through my bloodstream until even the tiniest trace of it is gone. I raise my hand and look at my fingertips where I just had felt the last remaining piece of the bullet.

I wiggle my fingers and let the hand fall down again, directing my attention at the security guard. I sneer at him before looking back at the panic that has risen in the asylum. Patients, doctors and nurses are clawing at each other. Some of them are attempting to flee the place, but most are fighting each other, bare hands tearing wounds and hair. Just before I turn to my stallion, I can see a doctor jabbing her fingers into the eye of a nurse and ripping the eyeball out of its socket.

I stroke my stallion's blaze and walk to his side, pulling myself into the saddle. I attach the scythe to its place at the saddle and nudge my horse with the heels.

He turns and trots forward, away from this godforsaken place, the ground moist and squishy from blood where he sets his hooves. I wave one hand at War. “I'm done with this place. Have fun if you must, I need to get out of these stinking clothes. They smell of decay.”

“You complain about the smell of decay?” Famine chuckles. I hear the hooves of his steed following me. “You _are_ decay.”

“My mind has been rotting for too long in here, I don't care for any reminders.” I ride past the security guard that had shot me and stop next to him. I look back at War who is standing next to the brother of the visitor I just killed and pointing at a doctor. He whispers to the patient, setting him up against the doctor without a doubt.

“Spare him, though,” I call out to War and point at the guard. “He will be mine to take and mine alone.” I lean down, taking a deep breath next to his head. He smells of fear and terror already, but I am missing the desperate fragrance. He doesn't want to die just yet. “I want you to witness. Witness all that will happen and once your soul is ripe with terror, I will come to claim you.”

He shakes his head, whispering silent and unheard words before lifting the gun to his head. I sit and watch him, smirking. He pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. His fragrance takes on a rather desperate shade, but it's not enough yet. He looks at the gun, weighting it in his hand.

“You only used one of the bullets,” I answer his unvoiced question. “And you may use the others as well. Use as many bullets as you desire on any human you prefer dead. But you won't use one bullet on yourself. No one will.”

I nudge my heels into my horse's flank and he neighs softly before falling into a gentle trot. He shakes his mane and only a brief second later he sets hoof onto concrete ground. I hear Famine arriving behind me and look around at him. He's scanning the windows in the shopping mall we appeared in.

I dismount and look at the windows of the shops as well. It's been a while since I've been in this street. I still remember it as a lively place where people met up and spent an afternoon together. Now it's deserted and wooden planks are nailed in front of most shop windows. The few shops that are left hide their windows with the high price tags behind thick metal bars.

I turn around to look at Famine who's grinning widely at me. “Is that your doing?”

He nods, smile not faltering. “Marvellous, isn't it? Just the prices for bread increased by 300% in this city. People are cooking their canaries already. Soon we will have the first cannibals.”

I shake my head and turn towards one of the only open clothes shops. “I'll never get your fascination with cannibalism.”

“It's the sheer despair in it that's so beautiful.” He nudges his stallion to walk closer to me and bends down, whispering against my lips. “They long for you, just as I did all those years. But still, they're too afraid to finally meet you.”

“You're insatiable,” I retort and turn towards the remaining clothes shop. I don't care about looking at the prices in the windows. I couldn't even have afforded a bread roll since my hospitalisation, let alone any clothes in an inflation like this.

“What can I do? I'm Famine, I'm always hungry,” his call follows me into the shop.

I look around and scrunch my nose. I'm not picky when it comes to clothes and right now, I just want to get out of this stinking asylum attire, but the display is poor. I glance at the man behind the counter, two wide eyes staring at me over the barrel of a shotgun.

I sigh and turn away, ignoring the shopkeeper while finding a pair of black leather trousers, a matching vest and a belt. I quickly change, ignoring his eyes on me while doing so and walk to the door again.

“What do you think you're doing?” a voice with a rather shaky quality stops me.

I turn back and smile at the shaking shotgun. “I just needed new clothes. You surely agree that asylum garb doesn't befit a Horseman.”

His eyes widen just a fraction more at the mention of Horsemen, but he doesn't let the shotgun down. “You still need to pay, Sir.”

“What say I spare your life for a little longer?” I ask. I turn fully towards him and walk up to the counter. When I stop in front of it, I reach out to push the barrel of the shotgun down. “You know who I am, don't you? And you know who my friend out there is, don't you?”

I can see him swallow, but he follows the way of my finger. His eyes alight on Famine and he nods. “Your friend was here before. He walked into the bakery and I saw him whisper into the ear of the lovely woman who owns it. She used to give me a little free cookie every now and then. And the children would always get a little treat. She stopped after your friend whispered to her. The following day, all the prices in her bakery had increased.

“Your friend then went to the next shop, whispering to the owners, and to the shop after and the shop after, until he had spoken to everyone in this street. The prices escalated and within a month most of the shops were gone, because no customer could afford anything anymore.

“Now there's only me, the bakery and the butcher left. And only the most prestigious of this city come to buy. The ordinary people are now dressed in rags and old bags, hunting for rats and doves and foxes. But those animals have long gone now, too.” He sighs and looks up at me. “I would follow you voluntarily, there's nothing left here.”

I hum and move to sit on the desktop. “I've spent years in a mental asylum because no one believed me when I said the Horsemen are rising.”

He shrugs. “Hardly anyone believes me when I say this is the Apocalypse. They say it's the talk of an old, lonely geezer. But I've been waiting for you to finally arrive for some time now.”

I look at him for a while. Grey hair that's only sticking out of the head in small tufts, blue eyes that long since lost any shine. His odour isn't desperate, it's old and seasoned. I would call it wise, if it wasn't for the resigned undertone in it. “Say my name.”

He looks into my eyes and without hesitation, he answers, “Death.”

I grin and lean closer to him, reaching out with one hand. “You're right,” I say just before my hand touches his eyes. “So let your payment be an easy death.” I touch the palm of my hand against his eyes.

He emits a sigh before his body collapses in itself and he sinks to the ground. I stay seated on the counter and watch the folded corpse beneath me while his soul whirs around my head, pausing at my ear for a moment before it flies into the sky. I wonder what he wanted to tell me before finally rising. I wish I could still understand their souls once they've left the bodies, but I'm not granted that skill.

“Do you now know the role you're destined to play in this, Matthew?”

I tear my eyes away from the old man to look at the tall man with the curly hair that has appeared behind me. His bow is attached to his belt, a quiver with arrows strapped to his back.

“Yes, Christopher,” I answer.

He raises his eyebrow at my use of his name, but doesn't comment further. I wonder if Famine and War use his name to address him, but I don't dwell on that thought. I push myself from the counter and walk back to the door.

“So, how's this going to play out now?”

“You've pretty much got free reign,” the White Rider explains. “You can take whomever you please and you can spare whomever you please. But you will not spare whomever I mark with my arrows. When I select a target, you react immediately.”

“You're the boss,” I say and step out onto the street. Famine still waits for me on his horse. I hold my hand out towards my stallion, and he comes to me, waiting patiently for me to mount. I scratch his head and look back, finding the shop empty.

Of course, the White Rider never stays long.

I roll my eyes and wait for Famine to trot closer to me. He purrs at me and reaches out to pull our mouths together yet again. “You look ready to be devoured,” he croons.

“What are you waiting for then?” I retort.

His hand falls from the back of my head lower to trace my spine and I move my leg to stroke over his polished shoe and into the leg of his expensive suit.

“Come on, let's find a good spot of privacy,” I growl against the lips and give my horse a nudge. “The whole world is our playground after all.”


End file.
